


Zero-sum Game

by cynicalwerewolf



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Dark, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 06:40:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/897046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynicalwerewolf/pseuds/cynicalwerewolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“…By order of the Emperor, the traitor Miles Kosigan is condemned to public death and execution…”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Zero-sum Game

Ghem-Colonel Dag Benin wearily eyed his face paint and formal uniform. He was tired nearly to the point of death from all the executions that had been ordered over the past month. _High Command trying to hide the fact they’re losing_ , a sardonic voice whispered in his mind. These days that voice spoke with a distinct Barrayaran accent.

But officers were required to attend all public executions by order of Emperor Fletchir Giaja’s representative, the haut Perrin.

And he had been ordered to perform this particular execution with his own hands as punishment for letting the Barrayaran spy go uncaptured for so long by his own commander, the ghem-General Rathi. He hoped his predecessor was being punished as publicly as Dag, as _he_ had been the man to accept the Barrayaran as an informant in the first place.

He doubted it. Vire was the son of a haut-bride. While there was little doubt that Erhan Vire would be punished for his mistakes and that Clan Vire would lose status, all shame would be privately administered.

It was the way of Cetaganda.

* * *

“...and this is one of our best local informants. Peter! Come here!”

“Yes, ghem-Colonel Vire?” The little man Vire had addressed as ‘Peter’ asked.

“It’s ghem-General now. I’m being promoted back to Eta Ceta. This is my successor, ghem-Colonel Benin. Dag, this is Peter.”

Ignoring his commander’s inappropriate familiarity, Dag examined the Barrayaran with interest, noticing that the informant was doing the same thing. The man was obviously a mutant of some form. Odd that he had survived for so long, considering Barrayaran prejudices.

Peter stuck his hand out, another surprising liberty. Despite the fact that by doing so he would encourage further ones, Dag took it. Grey eyes met his as he shook the stubby-fingered hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ghem-Colonel Benin.”

* * *

Dag sighed as he began to put on the uniform. Trousers, undershirt, tunic, boots, all clean and in order.

 _If I had put the pieces together faster, none of this would have happened_ , he thought. _We would still be winning the war, Vorkosigan would have been executed as a spy, and I would not have shamed my house._

Well, he wasn’t entirely happy about the idea of Miles being executed as a spy, but at that point it would have been…a more merciful death than the Barrayaran was being given now.

* * *

“Your damn Barrayaran fleet’s a day late and a dollar short, Veresk!” Peter shouted at the prisoner being dragged out of the room as Dag entered.

“Ghem-Colonel,” he addressed the Cetagandan, suddenly deferential as he turned to face his contact.

“Peter,” Dag said. “You have information for me?”

“Yeah. I’ll give it to you over a meal and a game of Tacti-Go,” at Dag’s questioning look, he said, “That’s my arrangement with your people. You give me a decent meal every day and a night off the streets every week, as well as a job once you’re done, and I give you information.”

“And the game of Tacti-Go?” Dag inquired.

Peter looked sad, and very young, “I haven’t had anyone to play with here since my father died.”

Dag wondered how old the informant was. He was beardless, which implied youth when combined with the young man’s apparent poverty, and his face, although pain worn, could be anywhere from fifteen to forty. His predecessor’s files gave his current age as twenty-one, but Benin wasn’t certain of that.

He decided he could spare some time to give the informant a game of Tacti-Go in the interest of maintaining a useful connection. “Yes, Peter,” Dag said, feigning reluctance, “I will give you a match of Tacti-Go.”

Too knowledgeable eyes glanced towards him and Peter smiled. He said, “Well, then let’s get on with it.”

Dag’s current quarters were in what had once been a protected witness apartment, just like most of the other lower and middle ranking Cetagandan intelligence officers. The Barrayarans had abandoned the facility, and it was perfectly constructed to house an intelligence agency, even though the architecture was grating to say the least. No Cetagandan would ever construct anything so unappealing to the eyes even though the building was extremely functional. It had taken a long time to remove all the programming backdoors from the system.

Dag wasn’t certain they’d found them all, but until a Barrayaran agent attempted to use one, they would never know.

Peter quickly passed on his information and they settled into their game. Benin found himself challenged as he rarely been before. Finally, trying to distract his opponent, he asked, “If you do not mind my asking, how were you…damaged, and how have you survived so long on this planet?”

He had the impression that Peter wasn’t distracted at all, even though he moved his next piece as though he were. “My da was a soldier and during his tour he was assigned to a base that had a stockpile of fetaine. Unfortunately, the containment procedures failed and they didn’t realize how badly until...well, I was born. He was the first of the squadron to have children, see. I only lived because I was born in Hassadar hospital.” At Benin’s look, he said, “Best hospital in Vorkosigan district. And that because they wanted to have supplies near to hand should the Lord’s son need some care. Da spent his entire savings on me.”

Mentions of the mysterious Lord Miles, well, he was Lord Vorkosigan now, always interested Dag. Every source they had indicated the young man had died in the initial waves, but there were no pictures of the ‘mutie Vor’. Or really anything except some perfunctory birth records to indicate he had even existed. No one Dag spoke to ever spoke of him beyond the most perfunctory evasions.

Benin looked the board over, then made his move

“Anyway, Mother left but Da took care of me as best he could, made sure I had the best medical care he could afford.” The informant paused, and said, “He died when I was eleven. I was in Child Services, until that broke down when Emperor Gregor fled.” 

Peter moved another piece, making his position much worse than it had been previously, though Dag had seen him note far more advantageous moves.

As they continued play Dag asked more questions about the informant, and Peter somehow managed to worm almost as much information out of him as he had from Peter. Dag could understand how he managed to be such a good informant despite prejudices, he had an unusual ability to persuade you to admit things you never would otherwise.

After Dag won the game and was showing Peter out, he told Peter, “Next time don’t play to lose. I want a real challenge.”

Peter first looked surprised, then amusedly delighted. With a nod he said, “I live to serve.” After that restatement of the ImpSec motto, jokingly said but apparently sincere, he left the former ImpSec Headquarters to go wherever he slept at night.

* * *

Dag kicked himself, as he had since he had determined that Peter, the missing Admiral Naismith and Lord Vorkosigan were the same people, for not seeing it at that time.

* * *

“I wish we could find anyone who knew, or would admit to knowing, what this Admiral Naismith looked like. All we have to go on are a few sound-recording fragments from the Tactical Room of the Triumph. Everything else was destroyed when the fleet was,” Dag paused to move a piece, winning a few more squares. “If I didn’t know better I’d be willing to swear that Admiral Naismith and Lord Vorkosigan- well, he’d technically be Count Vorkosigan now if the Barrayaran government were a functioning entity, were the same people. They’ve both been erased completely and competently.”

Peter studied the board carefully. After making his move he looked up at Dag and said, “Perhaps if you played me those fragments I could keep an ear out for smuggled in recordings from him, or possibly even his presence if he managed to get on planet.”

Dag considered this before saying, “Very well.”

As he turned to his comconsole Peter asked, “You keep the recordings on your personal comconsole?”

“I’ve been considering them when I’ve nothing else to do. Which is rare,” Dag replied.

“Ah,” Peter said, briefly.

The recordings played, fragmentary sound bits, mostly, a few scattered words without context. And at the end, Naismith’s voice shouting, “The damn Barrayaran fleet’s a day late and a dollar short-“

Peter gave Dag a look that was almost impossible to interpret before saying, very drily, “How helpful.”

“I know,” Dag ran a hand through his hair. Something was bothering him but if he tried to force the train of thought, he knew he’d lose it completely.

In an effort to distract himself, Dag made another move, only seeing after the fact that he had just made an incredible mistake, one that Peter would have to be a dunce to not capitalize on. Indeed he could see the informant’s grey eyes take on a predatory glint, the one they always got when Peter was winning.

Dag had discovered little else about his informant. Peter was a master at evading many subjects. Yet despite all the evasions Benin almost liked him.

Almost.

He could never forget that Peter was a willing traitor. No matter how convivial his company, a ghem-officer could never consider such a man more than a useful tool.

Peter won the game soon after. With a slight bow, the informant said, “Good night, ghem-Colonel.”

Watching the door close behind the small man, Dag frowned. That had sounded more like a final ‘good bye’ than ‘good night’.

Shaking his head, he decided to replay the sound fragments from the Triumph. Again. And again. Suddenly he recognized what had been bothering him earlier.

Swearing, Dag located the security feed from the day he and Peter had their first meeting as officer and informant.

It took far too long to locate the files and still longer to find the appropriate time. But, eventually on the screen Peter declared once more, “Your damn Barrayaran fleet’s a day late and a dollar short-“

Even without the aid of an audio analyst Dag could hear the similarity. Naismith’s Betan accent, present however slightly in the previous fragments, had slipped into something almost Barrayaran. And ‘Peter’s’ lower class accent had slipped into something much more elevated in status, particularly when he was tired.

The man was good. Very good. But not quite good enough.

Dag hoped he was wrong, but he activated the com and said, “Sergeant, locate Peter Konstantinov’s and detain him when he is found.”

Even as he commanded Peter be found, Dag knew it would be much easier said than done.

* * *

With brittle precision Dag took out the first brush and dipped it into the first paint necessary to form the Imperial Array. He was practiced enough that the formation of the complex pattern was no distraction.

Peter-Naismith-Miles had indeed vanished from Security Headquarters. After a full security sweep was launched, they discovered that the Barrayaran agent had used a programming backdoor to access and download a number of things: weapon and shield specifications, security protocols, lists of agents…anything that could be useful had been taken.

It took over a month to locate Miles, and only through the actions of a _Cetagandan_ double agent was he located at all.

Even then, bringing him in had cost more than they could afford, for little return.

Dag had been kept far away from anything to do with the Barrayaran’s interrogation. Which had also been a waste of time, as when they’d finally broken Miles, any information he had was out of date.

Not that he’d had much information to begin with. The Barrayarans didn’t work within a cell system but from what they could gather, Miles had deliberately isolated himself from the Barrayaran intelligence network.

That had been one of the matters Dag had discussed with the former informant last night.

* * *

Vorkosigan’s (Dag would never, could never, drop the Vor, though an official proclamation had stripped the Lord of that rank) breathing sounded horrible, raspy and painful. Perhaps the Barrayaran was developing a respiratory infection. Dag tried not to think of where the double-agent had probably contracted the infection, but it was difficult.

The small man’s otherwise fragile health couldn’t be helping him resist the infection, either. And that was without accounting for Vorkosigan’s mutations…birth defects…naturally compromised immune system.

“Come to get your licks in?” the Barrayaran’s voice almost gave out halfway through the statement. Dull grey eyes with only a spark of defiance remaining gazed from floor level through the tangle-field to meet Dag’s. “I was expecting you sooner, actually.”

Dag shook his head in denial, “No. I just- I wanted to ask you a few questions.”

Vorkosigan sounded like he was choking. After a few seconds, Dag realized what he had assumed was a cough was, in reality, a bitter laugh, “That’s what they all say.”

Infuriated by the assumptions Dag hissed, “Did you find taking me in amusing? Did you laugh at your base for accomplishing a good jest on the foolish, trusting Cetas?”

The laughter cut off, as though by a knife. Vorkosigan whispered, “ _You_ were never a joke, ghem-Colonel. And you were hardly trusting.”

“Not suspicious enough,” Dag muttered.

“Damn it, Dag!” It was the exclamation as much as the coughing fit that followed halted the addressee of the yell.

Vorkosigan-as-Peter had never used the familiar address. In fact, Peter had for the most part avoided direct address at all. Dag could only remember a handful of times that the double-agent had called him so much as ghem-Colonel, and one of them had been Peter’s farewell.

But while Dag was musing, Vorkosigan had managed to catch his breath, “I won’t say I didn’t enjoy the whole business. In fact, when you took over, I began to enjoy it too much, belike. Vire…Vire wasn’t a challenge.” Vorkosigan snorted, “I lost every game of Tacti-Go I played with him by greater and greater margins, trying to see if he’d ever figure out I was winning for him. He never did. The man was a bore and an incompetent idiot. He never…made me like him, despite everything. Made me almost forget we were enemies.”

Miles paused for a moment before whispering with harsh finality, “That all we ever could be was enemies.”

Dag closed his eyes before he whispered, voice taking on the same tone as Miles’s, “I know.”

* * *

When the ghem procession Dag was a part of arrived at the execution platform, the same location the Barrayarans had used to execute Vor traitors, he noted the absence of any Barrayaran but those known to be working for the Cetagandans. Although all citizens of Vorbarr Sultana had been commanded to either appear at the execution platform or view through the emergency holo-projectors, Dag had seen very few of the citizenry on the streets around the projectors. And none of them were here.

The haut Perrin was almost frustrated enough to lose his mask, but even _he_ recognized the futility of fighting a war of cruelty and attrition against the Barrayarans. The Barrayarans had proven that over the course of seven ghem-generals and as many haut-governors.

Not that kindness was any more effective. Barrayarans were warier of kindness than cruelty, and felt that any attempt by outsiders to make their lives better was ‘buying’ them. And they felt that accepting anything from Cetagandans was treason.

Barrayar was no kinder to her traitors, genuine or perceived, than Cetaganda was.

Which, considering the conflicting rumors about what Miles had done and regarding what he had been to Barrayar and Cetaganda made the lack of commanded witnesses most interesting. Dag wondered which of the possible explanations was the closest to being correct for the majority of the population.

His thought play took him up the stairs of the execution platform to the post Miles had been chained to by the leaders of the procession. The haut Perrin and ghem-General Rathi were flanking it. Dag’s expression of neutrality became fixed as he surveyed the extent of the damage which darkness had hidden last night.

In the distance, Dag could hear weapon fire. The Barrayarans were making the final push far earlier than anticipated. No one else reacted, except for a few of the Barrayaran witnesses who slipped off as unobtrusively as they could.

Ghem-General Rathi’s voice broke through Dag’s musings, “It is time.”

The ghem-General’s assistant carefully held out the knife Dag was intended to use to eviscerate the spy. Its sharp edge gleamed, but the knowledge that while sparing Miles would likely do nothing, his execution would do even less, gave Dag the impetus to say, “No.”

The stunned gaze of every ghem witness weighed heavily on Dag, but that no longer concerned him, at least at this moment. This would in all probability be futile, however he was not going to commit, or accept the commission, of this useless act. No matter who commanded it.

The ghem-General only looked at the haut governor briefly in confirmation before he unholstered his nerve disruptor and, aiming just as briefly, shot Dag.

In the infinite second before oblivion, Dag looked to Miles, meeting his gaze fully for the first and last time.


End file.
